Not So Fearless
by Avoline Malfoy
Summary: "What if death isn't what we thought it would be? What if Hell is just pain and fear and we never see the ones we care about? I know I sound like some stupid conformist, but after loosing Mom, I've been thinking about this more and more." RATED M CAUSE IT'S SOUTH PARK, DON'T LIKE FOUL LANGUAGE, DON'T READ.


_Disclaimer: I own nothing_

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_I've been watching South Park since I was a kid, but I've never thought to write a fanfiction for it. Now that I'm an adult, I find myself enjoying it more than when I was a kid._

_Anyway, this is my take on the Goth kids as freshly graduated young adults. This will focus on Henrietta and Michael, aka Curly Goth._

_Not sure what else I can say, aside from this looked a bit longer on paper, so sit back and enjoy._

_Love always,_

_Avoline_

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She was sitting on her bed when the doorbell rang. She rolled her eyes and went to answer, seeing as though her parents were at the Broflovski's having dinner and driving them batshit crazy.

Whoever was at the door pounded on it a few times.

"I'm coming," she shouted as she descended the stairs. God, they were fucking impatient.

"Henrietta, it's me," a gruff voice called from the other side. She darted to the door, a smile on her face. Maybe having her friends around would make the night better.

Her smile faded when she saw Michael's appearance.

He was a wreck. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, like he was sick or, God forbid, had been crying. His lips were chapped, either from smoking too many cigarettes again or his nervous habit of licking them. His clothes were wrinkled, and she assumed he had slept in them.

She had only seen him like this once before. It was two years ago, when he was seventeen. His parents had died in a horrible car accident, one that also claimed the lives of all but one member of the McCormic house. He had been a wreck, but quickly pulled himself back together to keep from being sent away. He had to prove that he could support himself. He took his inheritance and tripled it within a month on the stock market, giving Kenny McCormic enough to survive on until he left for Colorado University.

This was different. Two years ago, when Michael last looked like this, there was a spaced out look to his eyes.

All Henrietta saw tonight was terror.

"Michael, what's wrong," she asked, stepping aside to let him in. He sunk into her couch, clutching his cane, and she sat next to him. They sat in silence, and she was sure that he was trying to find the words he needed.

"You think I'd be used to rotten luck," he croaked. So he _had _been crying. "Being bullied cause my mother was Japanese, being bullied because I'm a Goth, my parent's deaths two years ago." He shook his head. "But nothing prepares you for rotten luck getting worse." Tears lined his eyes, causing her to panic.

"Michael, what are you trying to say," she questioned.

"I'm dying, Henri," he blurted, his gaze finally meeting hers. "Nineteen years old, and I'm dying! At least, I might as well be." She stared at him, trying to process what he just said. "Lung cancer. They found a mass on my lung about a month ago."

"And you never told us," she muttered. He licked his lips as a tear fell.

"I wanted to wait until the test results came back," he explained. "But Pete went away to college, and I just couldn't tell Firckle. If you could only see the way his parents treat him, Henri. Telling him what I told you would crush him."

"And waking up to learn that you're dead one day won't," she snapped. He began coughing, and she raced to get him a glass of water.

"I didn't think about that," he gasped after a few gulps of the liquid. "It's just... Henrietta, I'm terrified. What if death isn't what we thought it would be? What if Hell is just pain and fear and we never see the ones we care about? I know I sound like some stupid conformist, but after loosing Mom, I've been thinking about this more and more."

The tears were streaming down his face now, his eyes wide with fear. She sat next to him and pulled him close, allowing him to cry on her shoulder.

This made it all too real. Michael never showed weakness, even when it's clear his pain was consuming him. He never cried in front of anyone when his parents died. Hell, he was proud when Pete left for college, as far as she could tell. He was the rock of the group, the strongest person she knew...

Reduced to the sobbing mess in her arms.


End file.
